• Dulled blue, like that of the shadows cast on virgin snow, untouched by the world. Layering the North Lands in a thick blanket. As if attempting to prevent the harsh winter from ever falling upon this part of the world. While in turn representing its arrival, contradicting its purpose to conceive its own existence. Yet, still winter comes to the North Lands as the cycles of time and season continuously rotate. A hilly scene depicts the land with thickets of brush and tree sporadically sprouting here and there.
    The sun, spreading light across this frozen shell, changes the sky to a dulled gold as it pans up over a few rolls in the countryside in silence. No birds to chirp or sing, leaving an untimely emptiness to echo through the world. Appearing from one of the scattered shelter belts that dot the area, a lone stag reluctantly steps forth from the safety of his trees. Another day in the inevitable search for food. The stage steps again in a cautious manner, attempting to lure predators from their hide-away. Springing into a graceful stride when no sign of danger is apparent, swiftly moving over one hill and out of view, leaving nothing but a hardly noticeable trail of hoof prints.
    A small mound of snow shifts and falls in plopping clumps as a figure moves. A lone gray wolf stands to follow its prey. A cub by his small figure, learning to survive his first winter alone. No doubt far from his den and taking much longer then the wolf would like. The cub had most likely been there through most of the storm, which had come early the previous day, covered in snow as he was. Driven by hunger to ride the second half of the flurry in hopes that some form of prey would show itself. At least the wait would not be in vain. He shook the snow that was left attached to his fur, trying to keep some ounce of warmth to himself, before continuing his hunt.